Paranoia's Shadow
by Magical Shovel
Summary: Detective Chase Sommers is close to making a break in the case, but there is always a cost. Will he be able to endure? Only time will tell as the games begin. Takes place after Saw VI. Rated T for violence, language, & blood.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I own none of the characters from the Saw films nor the movies themselves. Leigh Whannell and James Wan (Look up!) created the fantastically gory Saw series. Owo; Yes, I did indeed create my own character, Detective Chase Sommers, for this fan fiction. No, he is not a Gary Stu (Mary Sue). At least, I sure as Hell hope he isn't.

**Author's Note**: I'm quite sure that this story may lack consistency. Yet, just like the Saw films, there will be plot sharks and holes that must be jumped. Basically, the plan of this fan fiction is to hop back and forth like that of the movies. If an entire chapter is in italics, then it's most likely a flash back or if a section of a chapter is in italics, then the same applies. Apologies if there are some confusing parts. Sorry the prologue's rather short. This may turn into a Hoffman/OMC pairing. Just warning you. Keyword: May. By the by, I'm not quite sure if I would like to incorporate Dr. Gordon into all of this (depends). Enjoy!

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Prologue

Groggy, green orbs flutter awake. A gasp to reclaim the loss of oxygen. His limbs ache; they feel as if they weigh a couple hundred each. He groans, attempting to shift himself in a more comfortable position. It's to no avail, however. He makes no true struggle, trying his best to remain calm. The room is as black as night. He can hear water drip from the ceiling or a leaky faucet in the nearby distance. A light flickers on and off in a repetitive fashion.

Upon straining his sight, he spies a television.

He knows what it is.

Atonement. For only God knows what.

_Shit. _A tiresome swear.

His eyes are weary. His body trembles. He glances downward to see what binds him to this hellish place. A throne? No, that is wistful thinking. It is something far worse. It feels or it at least appears to be an executioner's chair, complete with rust and the beginning stages of decay. There is a device that constricts his chest, painfully poking at his ribs. Dried blood is smeared upon his face. His expression turns to one of surprise as he sees a knife that hangs mockingly before his face.

Now, he truly struggles. He makes an effort to cry out. Again, it is of no use. His mouth is sewn shut like Art Blank's, the lawyer whom was a victim relating to the Jigsaw case. The wounded shudders, predicting his upcoming fate. Soon, the television will proceed to flick on. He will have to figure out how he arrived at this place. Soon, he will be faced with a difficult choice like no other. In the end, will he live or die?

It will only be a matter of time before Detective Chase Sommers makes a life-changing decision.


	2. Watch Yourself

** Watch Yourself**

The casket lowered into the moist earth. It seemed like Death, Himself, followed all of those whom worked on the puzzling Jigsaw case in a bitter twist of irony. Their flaws and weaknesses were meticulously picked apart and dissected. As everyone knows and once knew, no human being is perfection and it is man's constant strive for perfection that leads him on the path of utter despair and desolation. The loyal men and woman who labored on the case only faced the despair, because of their overwhelming desire to serve and protect.

This gloomy afternoon had been that of Perez's funeral. It had been just a few hours previously that Chase Sommers attended another of unknown name. This current reception of death, however, was Lindsey Perez's true funeral and not the false ceremony that had been held so seemingly long ago. In Detective Sommer's opinion, there was one parade of death after another. So many lives had been lost to this once noble cause.

All in all, he kept his head bowed as the Priest spoke. Women wept. Men held faces construed of stone. He hadn't known her well enough. Perez, that is. That _was_. He worked with her on the case, trying their best to crack it. He wasn't on the field at the time. He stayed with the files and documents, putting together the pieces of the puzzle. Trying to, at least.

All that remained of the corpses had been ashes and fragments of bone. It was nearly impossible to identify the bodies; if you could even call them that much. Yet, the forensic analysis' managed to succeed in the inevitable task. That was the mainly the reason why Chase was here. Had no one reported the fire, no one would be at this funeral and it would've taken far longer to discover the 'bodies'.

Detective Sommers kept his gaze cast downward, watching the polished casket glimmer with rain drops. They rolled down his face and matted his hair. True, it was cold, but he just didn't care enough. He was void of empathy, full of apathy and excess. For a split second, he turned away to spy a familiar figure. _Hoffman_. The man was like a cockroach in Sommers' opinion. All throughout the damned cases, he had survived. He was here and so was Sommers.

Chase swept a hand through his short, brown locks in an attempt to swat away the water like an annoyed feline. He walked towards Perez's parent. He bowed his head as he paid his respects to the distraught couple. To his surprise, the woman flung her arms around Chase with a single, frantic movement. The detective was clearly stunned as well as startled. He slowly wrapped an arm around Perez's mother in a futile attempt to console her.

"It's alright, Ma'am."

"Why couldn't you save her?! You saved her once!" She declared. Her voice was shrill with accusation. It pained Chase. _Because it's all a game. I wasn't on the field… I wasn't the one who saved her. That was Special Agent Strahm._ He shook his head, trying his best to calm the hysterical woman. She began to beat at his chest in frustration until her husband pulled her away with the grief painted on his face.

"I'm sorry… There was nothing I could do. Reports say that it was an accident, Ma'am. A fire caught from the machinery, most likely…" _Somehow, I don't think this was an accident. They knew too much. The only problem is that I have to find out __**what**__ they knew, exactly. Accidents don't end in murder._

They walked away from Chase's words only to be consoled by fellow family and friends. A firm hand suddenly rested upon his shoulder. His eyes flickered with mild annoyance. Who was it _this_ time? He took a moment to gaze sidelong. Detective Hoffman. Of course… Who else would it be? Everyone else was dead.

One side of Mark Hoffman's face had been tediously bandaged. Without a doubt, jagged stitches and mended bone lurked underneath. A shiver ran down Chase's spine. Hoffman spoke in a rather gravelly tone. It took well over a minute for Chase to interpret those words, "Sometimes things are meant to die, Detective Sommers."

Goosebumps pricked his flesh. It was as if Hoffman _knew_ what had truly happened. _No, Chase. Don't think that way. The man's been through Hell. He's not a suspect. He's a fellow coworker. _Chase pursed his lips for he was at a true loss of words. He was in means a man capable of comforting people as demonstrated beforehand. He furrowed a brow whilst he collected himself, "You're right, Hoffman. Everything has an expiration date. We just try to push the thought aside."

The two men currently faced each other. Their eyes met with a piercing stare as if it were a challenge or better yet- a test. Their dark overcoats billowed in the weather's brisk wind. Suspicion welled within Chase's heart. His mind swarmed with thoughts and details, unable to put them together.

"Well, Sommers… It would be best if you watched yourself. A killer's still on the loose and you remain… Untested, shall we say. Pretty suspicious if you ask me."

Chase's mouth nearly dropped to the ground in utter disbelief. Was Hoffman accusing _him_? Of all the people… Of all the damnedest things… His hands clenched into tight fists. His lips curved into a narrow frown. _You've got to be kidding me._ He scowled, "I've been behind the desk the entire time. The guys back at the prescient could speak for me on that. What, exactly, are you trying to get at?"

The tension hung in the air until Mark took a step back. He held his hands up in a gesture of plausible surrender. His full lips formed a slight smirk, though pain quickly flashed in his cerulean hues. It was as if Hoffman was taunting him, picking a fight and pitting him against the bulls.

"All I'm suggesting is that you should watch yourself."

_Watch yourself._

If only he did.

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Author's Note: Opinions? Thoughts? Comments? And if you did take the time to comment, I kindly thank you. The line in this chapter, 'Accidents don't end in murder', was derived from the awesome movie, Repo! The Genetic Opera, which was created by Darren Smith and Terrance Zdunich. Just putting that mini-disclaimer out there.


	3. Home

**Home**

He gripped the steering wheel with complete and absolute frustration until his knuckles appeared to be as white as bone. Like any decent driver, he peered ahead at the endless road. His mind, on the other hand, was unfocused and even disoriented as he steadily drove home. No, Chase was not drunk in the least bit. He was something far worse than that. He felt sheer terror.

A lit cigarette hung loosely between his lips. The window had been open but a crack, enabling the dying embers to escape though droplets of water quickly snuck in. Out of desperation or perhaps fixation, he refused to let go of the cancerous stick. It calmed a miniscule portion of his nerves.

He was heading home. Not the prescient, but home… Home- where Alice was- Not. They divorced in what seemed to be a millennia. Of course, he knew that was not the case. Chase never realized how much he missed her until now. His head drooped and his shoulders sagged as he braved through the merciless storm. _It's not worth your tears, Chase. Nothing is. Nothing was. _That still didn't help him, because he still remembered.

_In his memory, everything is gray like an old film._ _It's a night like the one Chase is currently driving through. The weather remains the same, both cold and damp. His expression, however, is completely different. There is a wry, little grin on his face as he's eager to reveal the good news to his wife. The only question he has is how he should break it to Mrs. Alice Sommers._

_His eyes are giddy as he looks in the rear-view mirror his reflection to greet him. His mouth begins to move in the process of creating words, "Honey, I've been promoted. Too out front. Guess what, Hon? Someone's check just increased! How cheesy! Christ, Chase. Come up with something better!"_

_He clucks his tongue as he rakes his mind for ideas, "I'll be doing more around the prescient, Babe. No more worn-out faces. No more expressionless faces. I've moved up the ladder. More will be placed into my hands. I feel like a Saviour, a God. It feels wonderful to save so many lives… You're now looking at Detective Sommers, my dear."_

_Perfect._

"It was perfect. Perfection that I bought, sought, and thought."

His jaw quivered as a whimper bubbled out from his throat. Chase had disposed of the cigarette; the smoke lingered in various places. Tears pricked his eyes as he made a futile attempt to dispose of them. What was he reduced to? A sniveling idiot? A fool? A poor player strutting the field? Or… a human being that needed to be taught a lesson?

"What have I done? Where did I go wrong?"

_The dark car parks outside of the white home. It seems dull inside aside from a few dim lights. He covers his head with the morning paper as he scurries inside like a frightened mouse. It's quiet, far too quiet. Anxiety causes his heart beat to exhilarate. For a split second, he's tempted to reach for the caliber that is gently snuggled in his holster._

"_Alice?!" He sounds likes a lost child, seeking his mother through a crowd of strangers. _

_Room after room, he enters as he searches for his beloved. No one. Nothing. Silence. The house remains perfection, though. His wife is beautiful. He had a glorious job. Chase has all he could ever desire. Normally, Alice would be near, ready to greet him with open arms. This is not the current case._

_She has to be here. Otherwise her vehicle would not be parked in the garage. It would be extremely foolish to take a random stroll through the horrendous weather. He hears noises coming from his bedroom. Panic floods his system. He bounds up the stairs, leaving them to creak with age._

"_Alice!"_

Detective Sommers parked his vehicle in the now silent garage. He wiped his mud-cake boots on the bristled, 'Welcome Home' mat. His face and atmosphere had become increasingly gaunt and haggard over the growing weeks. Chase grimaced, slightly irritated by the annoying silence within his home.

"Home sweet home," the brown-haired male mumbled to no one in particular or so he thought.

A noise erupted from the kitchen, alerting his senses. It sounded like a clang of glasses touching each other. Nonetheless, it may have been a possible house intruder or thief. His hand quickly pulled out his caliber. Sommers ran towards the entrance, pushing his lean frame against the wall. With an efficient quick step, he stood in front of the room. The gun was pointed at the loud invader. Though he was surprisingly quick to lower it.

"Jesus, Alice. You scared me."

"Really, Chase. M'surprised yah haven't change tha lawks…" He recognized the tone of her voice. Every word came with some amount of difficulty. She was slurring her words which meant that she had been drinking. Chase groaned, shaking his head. _I swear I have the worst luck. Of all nights, she chooses to come by on this day. _He held out his hands, resisting the urge to shrug.

"I haven't the time. I'm a busy man on the force."

"M'sure yah are, Darlin'."

"Alice, please… Not tonight. I can't deal with this. I need to get you home. You can't stick around here. We're not married. We're _divorced._ Night after night, you do this and I can't help you. I've tried… Really, I have…" Chase furrowed his brows together, each word slowly fading into the atmosphere.

Ever so quickly, she dropped to her knees. Alice Fauntaine, once Sommers, clamped her hands together as if in prayer. Her fiery, red locks framed her face. Desperation flickered in her cerulean hues. She was on the verge of sobbing. It's evident in the tone of her voice, "Please, take me back! PLEASE, CHASE. If it's about the drinking, I can stop. Give me any day and I can stop. If it's about the infidelities, I can stop those too. Give me a chance. It's all I ask!"

"_I swear to God, Alice! I don't care! I just don't care!" Chase flings his hands in the air out of exasperation. _

"_That's right, Chase. That's your problem, you don't care. Not at all. Like you're a fricking statue. You've given up on everything."_

"_We're getting a divorce."_

He couldn't take it anymore. Chase turned away. The anguish was painted across his features. He bit down on his lips, all too tempted to sweep the wine bottles off of the table. Instead, he did his best to maintain all calm. He didn't need havoc to break loose that evening. No, instead, he would be the good guy and take his ex home tonight. She was in no means ready to drive tonight.

"…Look, I'll drive you home tonight. You just need to rest and recollect your senses. Tomorrow, you can come pick up your car, alright? Good." _Remember Alice, you were the one who ended this marriage, because of your ways. I loved you. You couldn't change. You couldn't make the right decisions…_

Like a distraught child, Alice nodded. She knew, deep down, that Chase was right. Their marriage could never be mended. It was only when she picked up a bottle that Alice felt like she needed to fix everything. They drove together in silence to Alice Fauntaine's apartment. Chase gingerly helped her up the stairs, to her room.

And that was it. Everything became automatic as if he were having an out of body experience. He smoked, drove home, and cleaned up the mess. He stared blankly at his door, resolving that he would hire the lock smith tomorrow. Chase threw his tie aside, placing his fire arm in the drawer.

Out of exhaustion, he flopped down on his bed.

"Nothing like being at home."

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Author's Note: Most of these, or heck, all of these chapters are pre-written. O 3o; Now, it'll take me a while to make updates after this.


	4. Alice

**Alice**

The alarm clock beeped in its irritating manner. With a groan, Chase slipped out of bed. The sheets were mangled from tossing and turning in his sleep. His bones cracked as he walked towards the washroom, flicking on the light. A tired man greeted him in the mirror. Chase rubbed a hand over his face, stifling a yawn. The faucet roared to life as he proceeded to wash up.

He lathered his chin and neck, following his daily routine. The razor gleamed as he held it within his line of sight. _You're getting old Chase, nearing forty and you look like you've aged a bit over that. _The detective curled his lip in particular disdain at his wary thoughts. He began to shave, edging towards his neck…

A ring in the nearby distance halted him from continuing his action. He jolted in perhaps paranoia or alertness. _Mother Fu- _The blood began to trickle in a steady stream, staining the collar of his shirt. Chase scowled, quickly moving to the phone. He grumbled to no one in particular, "This better be good and worth my blood…" The sarcasm oozed from his voice or it may have been the tart irony.

"Detective Chase Sommers reporting."

"Sommers, we've got another. Come down to the prescient. You're gonna wanna hear about this one," a cop's voice drawled from the other line.

He rubbed his face once more, "Christ. Another victim pertaining to the Jigsaw case?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I'll be right there."

And so he was. Chase quickly patched his wound. It stung as the water and soap skimmed over it. He threw on his suit and was out the door without a second thought. Drumming his fingers upon the steering wheel, he drove towards the source of all his devotion. _The source of all my obsession. _He grimly thought.

He tossed his keys into his pocket, walking up towards a group of cops whom quickly acknowledged him. Sommers gave a nod of recognition. With a flick of the wrist, he pulled out a cigarette and his beloved lighter. The flame sparked to life as he inhaled the refreshing smoke (at least it felt soothing to him). The detective nodded as they each spoke, though it all seemed to blend together.

"What happened to you? Ya look like you had a bit of a fight with yer razor this mornin'."

"…Another victim…"

"…Female… Near forty…"

"…Abandoned warehouse."

The dark vehicle quickly fell in line with the other police cruisers. By the donning minute, he was growing more and more impatient which was unlike his natural behavior. Every few moments, he would glance into the rearview or side mirrors. His heartbeat thudded inconsistently. He was nervous, but for whatever reason? Chase took the opportunity to console himself, "Stop it. Calm down. You're giving yourself a scare."

They walked like a pack of wolves closing in on their prey. Upon entering the building, Chase was left aghast and in total disarray. He backed away from the battered victim, trying his best to recollect his senses. A wave of nausea bubbled from the pit of his stomach. That was when he lost himself. Beads of sweat slide down from his temple. A fellow coworker had to help him maintain his balance.

_The atmosphere is as dark as always. Panic erupts from the heart of the female confined to the room. A crackled voice plays, "Hello Alice, I'd like to play a game. I know you, but you don't know me. For years, you have been slowly killing yourself and destroying the faith of those around you. You've become a bitter alcoholic and now is the time to redeem yourself."_

"Alice! Oh God! Why?" Chase dropped to his knees, arms hanging loosely by their sides. Despair contorted his features. He was thrown into a fit of hysterics. His fellow men were silent, a few muttering to one another about this particular case. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes. His chest heaved, trying to reclaim the air he so desperately needed. _I've got to pull myself together. _It seemed like he now had a greater reason to put all of his motivation into.

"Looks like the murderer was gearin' to strike a nerve, eh?"

Chase could barely hear the gossip, or so-called facts, as he hopeless stared at the disfigured body. Gulping, he shakily rose. Yet, he couldn't handle it. He lost all contents of what he tried to consume this morning and the previous night. A blonde officer wrapped an arm around Chase to give him support, enabling him to rise all the more.

_Keep your face made of stone and they'll suspect that you did it. But you didn't, Chase. That's what counts. You still have to ask… Why? And… How? _His voice trembled as he spoke, "Tell me the…the details, Officer."

"Alright, Detective Sommers…"

_A certain franticness lurks in Alice's eyes as her heartbeat speeds up. Her breathing is shallow, irregular. The unidentified voice continues to speak, "There is a toxin that is rapidly flowing throughout your body, reminiscent of your desire to drown away your sorrows. In order to get the antidote, you must crawl through the bed of knives that rest before you, symbolic of the pain you've bestowed upon others. You have but a minute. Make your choice."_

_The voice crackles, slowly fading away until Alice is left alone. She bites down on her lip, murmuring her apologies. Of course, they're of no use. She's not that desperate, is she? Alice chokes and sobs, wasting her time with incoherent nonsense. Finally, she makes a decision that will impact her._

_Instead of rushing through the so-called trap, Alice proceeds with a steady crawl. The blades sink into her flesh and she cries out from pure agony. The blood splatters upon the ground. An unknown wildness appears in her eyes. It's like going mad, yes, but at the same time it's something completely different. You tap into your core being and unlock… This._

_The screams echo throughout the room. The pain remains a constant throb. Even the adrenaline cannot cure this. The red numbers flash before her in all mockery. Time is running out and she is becoming aware of this impending factor. She tries to go faster, but the knives are merciless and unfathomably cruel._

"_Game over."_

_One final scream. Her body is now impaled upon the blades. The blood pools around her mangled corpse. _

Like a child, he couldn't help but to be compelled. Chase stared with his expression aghast as the horror never quite left his eyes. He covered his ears, wanting to hear no more. He wanted to look away, but he could not. He wanted to repress his speech, but knew he could not. Somehow, deep down, Chase felt as if she _deserved_ it. For all of the pain Alice bestowed upon him and others…

"What am _I_ thinking?" His voice grew shrill.

"Yes, Detective Sommers; what are _you_ thinking?" Oh no. Sommers was not in the mood for that smug tone and challenging smirk. He repressed the urge to come up with witty banter or throw useless sarcasm. Instead, he sighed wearily turning to see Detective Mark Hoffman once more in Chase's current, crouched position. He slowly rose, cramming his hands into his pockets. Rocking back and forth upon his heels, his gaze slowly wandered towards the- _Alice… _Before turning back.

_Did I shout that aloud? _"I'm, um, just trying to get the facts straight. My mind's traveling in a million directions at once. It's boggling not to mention troublesome. Victims continuously pop up like weeds upon a well-groomed lawn." Strange analogy, but it worked for Sommers.

"I see," Hoffman said with a bemused smile upon his face. _How irksome. Did Agent Strahm ever feel this way?_ Hoffman continued to drone on about the victim, the cases; "…As I was saying, Detective Sommers, I came here to apologize to you for my previous actions. Namely, of myself accusing you. Will you take my act of contrition?"

"Huh?" Chase quickly snapped out of his zoned out trance. He ruffled his brown locks, blinking tiredly. _You've got to have an ulterior motive, Hoffman. STOP IT. Jesus fucking Christ, you're losing yourself here. _It could happen to anyone. Paranoia has the tendency to follow people like the plague or better yet- a shadow. This was the exact case for Chase. His line of work and what he was pursuing had a devastating toll on him.

"You seem to have a lot on your mind, Detective. My apology, will you accept?" An arch of the brow followed by a beguiling smile. The bandages had been previously removed. Chase could see that much. The jagged scar, just as he imagined it, ran alongside his cheek and jaw and he couldn't help but to grimace.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry, just tired… Tired of a lot of crap. Yes, no problem. You just want to break the case just like myself."

"You look like you could go for a breath of fresh air. Why don't you walk with me?"


End file.
